


Shattering a Teacup

by Ealasaid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slick fucks some sense into Droog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattering a Teacup

**Author's Note:**

> Rape warning for technicality. Minor violence. Prompted by astharoze because I wanted to write sexy times.

Slick was very, very good at pissing Droog off. Droog knew it, Slick knew it, and Droog knew that Slick knew it because Droog was smart like that. Slick also knew that Droog, when pissed off properly, was not nearly as smart as he thought he was smart. So it was with casually planned deliberate action that led him to accidentally knock into the coffee table in the living room beside the chair Droog was reading his newspaper in at three-thirty a.m., trying to calm down from a fucked-up heist which had blown up in their faces that afternoon after he’d spent a week planning it in excruciating detail.

Droog started when the table rattled loudly and hissed when his cup of hot tea went flying and smashed on the floor. It was stupid, Slick thought, having something like bone china in the fucking hideout where shit went down all the time. “Oops,” he said, not bothering to hide his insincerity. “What the fuck was that tea cup doing there? Fucking table.”

Droog’s reaction was to go stiff with, Slick judged, fury. He had noticed that though Droog kept his shit together fairly well, under a lot of stress the little things would set him off badly. Smashing teacups with fresh tea happened to be one of those things.

“Slick,” he said through gritted teeth, “can’t you at _least_ remember when you rearrange the furniture so that you _don’t_ run into it?” He slowly looked up until he was violently murdering his boss with his eyes.

Slick grinned at him showing all his teeth. “Sorry, Diamonds.” The name rolled out, the first syllable suspended sarcastically. Slick never used that name when they weren’t fighting or fucking, and neither of them could really tell where the one ended and the other began.

Droog folded his paper with a snap, difficult with such a flimsy substance. He still managed it, because he was Diamonds Droog and a colder, more calculating man could not be found...usually. Slick was betting that tonight, it would not be too hard to do so—Droog was _mad_.

Droog wasted no time in getting to his feet and using his superior height to stare down at Slick. The other man _hated_ when Droog did that, but it was one of those things Slick knew that Droog knew, and so Droog exploited it when he wanted Slick to feel inferior.

But things weren’t like that tonight, and Slick easily ducked the quick jab Droog threw in retribution for the smashed teacup. A right hook and then some martial arts move and Slick threw in a counter blow that Droog used to throw him into the wall. Slick practically bounced off of it and slammed his metal elbow into Droog’s unguarded side with quite a bit of power.

The taller man hissed as the air was driven out of him with a dull crack; Slick might’ve cracked a rib or two by accident. But all was fair in love and war, and this was a little of both. Droog grappled from the ground and managed to grab Slick’s ankle as he walked past; the shorter man tripped with a snarl and staggered, badly off balance. In the time it took him to recover, Droog was on his feet again favoring his right side and outright pissed.

“What the _fuck_ are you _doing?_ ” he demanded scathingly with a look that could have snapped suspension bridges and killed small children.

Slick sneered in response. “What’m I doin’? What are _you_ doin’? _You_ started this!”

Droog’s normally unbreakable mask cracked. “ _I_ started this?” he half-screamed. “ _I_ did _not_ start _anything, you son of a bitch—_ ”

He lunged, moving fast for someone with a fucked rib, but Slick had no trouble with that. He whipped to the side and hit his lieutenant hard across the back of the head with his non-robot arm. It served to knock Droog down, but not knock him out; the plan was for both of them to be conscious, though Droog being unable to protest much due to a ringing skull was a bonus.

Droog sprawled on the floor and weakly rolled instinctively to protect his head. That was okay, it meant he could not do much to fight back while Slick hauled him up by the collar to throw him over the couch.  

“Sometimes ya just gotta relax, Diamonds,” Slick chided as he briskly cut the man’s belt. Droog’s fine slacks slid to the ground and the shorter man could’ve sworn he heard a protesting whine. “S’not yer fault the heist was fucked up, remember? If those cops hadn’t been a few blocks away because of that homicide, it would’ve gone fine.”

Droog had mostly gotten over the blow to the head because he started struggling again. “Fuckin’ get off,” he growled, trying to jerk out of the grip Slick had on his hip. He managed to make it halfway to fully-upright before Slick stomped on his instep and used the resulting flinch to grab the hitman’s arms and wrestle them behind his back while shoving a knee roughly between Droog’s legs. The man gasped when Slick leaned hard on the spot where his rib was cracked.

Slick easily undid his fly and fished out his dick, already half hard and heading towards something more useful for what he had in mind. The second order of business was to yank Droog’s boxers and admire his bare ass in spite of renewed snarls and jerks.

Slick had not come unprepared. He pulled out a tube of some jelly shit he’d nicked from a drugstore and slicked up his fingers with it. “GPI you are so fuckin’ tense,” he said calmly as he slid one in without a lot of preliminary posturing. Droog shuddered and the verbal barrage he was emitting went up a few notches to slightly more alarmed levels. Slick paid attention to absolutely none of it.

“Really, Diamonds, I don’t see what the big deal is.” He added a second finger and spent a minute testing how well he could wiggle the two as constricted as they were, watching how Droog’s struggles corresponded with how far he could scissor the two fingers apart and how often he could brush that one spot with any pressure. “You planned it all out. It was a great plan. None of us fucked up, nothin’ wrong with your intel.”

“‘m not angry about the fuckin’ _heist_ you broke my fuckin’ _cup_ ,” Droog argued back, frustrated, and interrupted halfway through by something like a whine when Slick forced a third finger in.

“Bullshit,” Slick said, and pulled his fingers out. He was tired of waiting. He slapped the rest of the lubricant on his dick and pumped it a few times, and lined everything up. “Bullshit,” Slick repeated as he pushed in and Droog made some inarticulate noises of rage and pleasure. “This is all about that fuckin’ heist.”

Droog didn’t bother to respond; he had ceased to provide more than a token struggle. He groaned softly as Slick hit the spot again and reached around to grab his cock. Slick was pleased to see Droog’d gotten some of his bearings back; you simply did not fight when someone had you by the balls.

“Yeah,” Slick breathed, a little light-headed himself. “Yeah, see? S’not so bad.”

The noise that followed was probably supposed to be a laugh, but Droog didn’t seem capable of anything with real mirth. “Fuck you,” he managed in between Slick’s moderately paced thrusts. “That heist was fucking gold. It wasn’t supposed to get fucked up.”

“Mmph.” The difficulty in fucking sense into one’s partner was how hard it was to articulate coherent responses balls-deep in his ass. Slick did it anyway, and stroked Droog’s dick while he was at it. “Not your fault, remember?”

Droog did not answer, but he awkwardly executed a timed jerk back as Slick thrust in. Slick in turn let go of his arms and dug his fingers into the back of the couch as Droog got some traction and started participating. The pace picked up and the force with it.

Things started to blur a little; Droog started to pant when Slick actually tried for once and succeeded in targeting his sweet spot in rapid succession. Slick groaned raggedly when it seemed he was going deeper and deeper each time, though it was honestly beyond him how that could possibly be the case. Something clicked and then they were both moving furiously: Slick into Droog and Droog into Slick’s hand. There was a tearing noise as Slick’s metal fingers ripped the fabric of the couch.

Droog’s escape was heralded by a queerly desperate noise echoing the rip. He stiffened and shuddered, getting a mess all over Slick’s hand and the cushion. Slick groaned at the sight of the other man slumping over the back of the couch and dropped the even part of his pace; seconds later he thrust in and hissed in satisfaction, frozen in the moment.

When he recovered, he prodded the taller man. “Hey,” he said. “Get up, that is not a comfortable position.”

“‘w th’ fuck would you know,” Droog mumbled into the couch cushions, but he tiredly got up and winced at the dragging sensation as Slick pulled out. He bent a little shakily to the floor and salvaged his wrinkled trousers.

“‘Cause I know things.” Whenever Slick attempted to throw an arm around Droog’s shoulders, the result was laughably humiliating, so he settled on slinging it semi-patronizingly and a little affectionately around the other’s waist and led him out to Droog’s room. “Go sleep it off ‘re somethin’. What is it, four in the morning?”

“I hate you,” Droog muttered as Slick mauled the doorknob and forced the door open.

“Yeah, yeah. Go to bed, your rib’ll keep for a bit.”

“Go die in a ditch.”

“It’s so nice to know you love me,” Slick smirked. The door slammed shut behind him as he went back to the living room to clean up the mess.


End file.
